


Spiraling in a New Direction

by Knowthyself13



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-01-15 11:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12320103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knowthyself13/pseuds/Knowthyself13
Summary: I've rarely felt kindness. Mom is long gone. My father's favorite thing to call me is a "faggot freak." Why? I'm telekinetic, gay, and Omega. Everything my father despises. I'm that weird, Goth kid in the back of your classroom who wears the same hoodie everyday. You think it's because I'm a spaz, but it's so nobody can see where my father beats me. My life is heading downhill with no soft landing in sight.One day, I save a cat and that makes my life start to spiral in a new direction. Is it easy? Hell no. Is it worth it? Absolutely.





	1. Tristan: Savior of Cats

Ever since I was a little kid, my life has been a downward spiral. The peak of my life was being born, which we all know is a bunch of screaming and crying: that’s my best moment. My mom left when I was two, leaving an abusive husband to take care of a child he never wanted. To add to his displeasure of having me around, I turned out to be one of those “mutant freaks” he hated so much. I’m a telekinetic (fancy way of saying I move shit with my mind). I didn’t realize it was a problem when I started bringing my toys to me from across the room, but I found out at the tender age of four what being backhanded felt like. Being a “fucking freak” was a major problem for my father, and that’s when the abuse got worse. Before, I was neglected; didn’t eat as much as I should have, didn’t get bedtime stories, none of that love you see in movies. Afterwards, I became the center of my father’s anger. I couldn’t use my powers in his presence for fear of him seeing and hitting me. He became paranoid about the neighbors finding out about his freak kid, so I couldn’t go outside. No going to friends’ houses, so eventually, I stopped having friends. When I was 14, I realized that I’m gay. Not sure how my father found out, maybe I lingered a little too long looking at some guy, but he did. I became the “faggot freak,” and everything got worse. Instead of beatings that sometimes included his belt, the belt became the norm, with the buckle side making an appearance a few times a week. Now you’d think, or at least hope, that’d be as bad as it got. I wish you were right, but no. Because I was malnourished and almost constantly injured, my designation didn’t present until I was 17. I was hoping to be an alpha so that I could force my father to back off, but nope. Omega. Bottom of the heap. I’m a freak, faggot, and have to take it up the ass during my heats. At 18 years old, I eat once a day at school, very rarely on the weekends, and already know how to give myself stitches, even on my back. Now mind you, Father doesn’t want everyone knowing he beats the shit out of his kid, so he doesn’t hit me in my face, and makes me wear black hoodies and pants all the time. I have long hair to hide any abuse to my scalp and the back of my neck that gets chaffed whenever he puts a collar on me. Oh yeah. I’ve been chained to the floor in the basement more than once. This is my fucked up existence. 

 Still, at least I’m smart. I’m probably going to be valedictorian at my school, which is a magnet school for science (I’m the scholarship kid). I don’t know how I’m going to give an inspiring speech about the future considering Father has forbidden me from going anywhere but the community college two blocks from the house. He told me that he doesn’t want me to go far so he can keep an eye on me. “Can’t let shit like you lose. You’ll expose yourself, and I can’t have you fucking up this family any worse.” I think he’s afraid I’ll find a mate, tell them everything I’ve been through, and then he’ll be arrested. Or beat to shit. So I’ve been on heat suppressants ever since I presented, which was a miserable fucking experience. See, heats for omegas demand that you be knotted, which is tough for unattached omegas. But they make toys for that. Do you think I had one? Hell no. I had to get through it BY MYSELF locked in the fucking basement for five days. I’d take being beaten unconscious every day for a month instead of dealing with that again. It was excruciating. My body demanded something I couldn’t give it. Wave after wave of uncontrollable NEED that I could do nothing to sate. This may be TMI, but fingers only do so much. 

 Anyways, enough about my crappy past… although right now isn’t much better. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. Father demands that I have all of my homework done before he gets home at seven pm. I lied, told him I was, and had to stay up once he went to bed to finish. I didn’t get to sleep until well after midnight, so this English essay is tough. In-class, five-paragraph, analytical essay practice for the AP test. Damn. I get all As in this class… well, any class. Anything less, and the belt, buckle side out, makes an appearance. Makes becoming valedictorian pretty easy with that threat over your head. Today though, today isn’t going so well. If I had to guess, I should be on my heat right now. Suppressants keep it from going full strength, but it makes me feel like there are ants crawling under my too-tight skin. Lack of sleep combined with heat symptoms? Zero ability to concentrate. I’ve barely got five shitty paragraphs on paper before time is called. I’m so screwed. There’s no way I got an A on that. Fuck. 

   
*******  
 

The school day is over and the English essay was just the start of me being completely screwed. I broke a test tube in AP Chem today, which made every pair of eyes that normally pass over me stare me down. That made lunch continuous rounds of how the freaky Goth kid is such a spaz. I ate my food and then went to the library. At least there, people have to be silent and leave me the hell alone. Fucking paradise there, ladies and gents, let me tell you what. You’d think a kid that deals with what I go through at home, told never to speak unless it’s “Yes sir,” would hate silence, but no. Silence means nobody is beating me or yelling at me or abusing me. Silence is beautiful. Anyways, after my lunchtime escapade in the library, I had study hall. That was the highlight of my day. I couldn’t concentrate very well, but I got some of my work done in more of that blissful silence. Last class of the day rolls around, and the long-term substitute in Spanish 5 assigns a group project. I fucking hate group projects. They always go the same way: I do all the work, yet everyone gets my A. Such bullshit. Kids love getting put with me because I’ll do the project and won’t say anything about them not doing anything. Always the same. I learned long ago not to speak up, and being at school doesn’t change that. As a matter of fact, it just helped solidify the concept. Some of you are probably wondering why I’m still with my father. Child services was called, more than once, but I’m still with my father. I got beat worse after they were called, so I don’t say anything anymore. 

 So here I am, walking home through the streets of Manhattan to the subway so I can make it over to my house in Brooklyn, trying to figure out how the hell I can get myself calmed down enough to finish all my work in the three hours before Father gets home. Unless he gets home early today. Please don’t let this be one of the day he gets home early. While pleading with nobody, I notice a cat walking down the sidewalk; I have a soft spot for feral cats. I’m not wanted either, so I’ve always gotten on with them. This one I’ve seen a few times. He doesn’t let me pet him much, but he’ll follow me like I’ve some food for him (sadly, no). He’s a dark grey cat with little bald spots on top of his head, and one tiny notch in the left ear. He’s darting across the road when a car makes an unexpected right turn. I reach out to him with my powers and pull him back across the road. The car misses him, and I am relieved, until I realize what I’ve done. Shit!! I just used my powers! In public! I don’t hear any comments, so I just speed walk on trying to avoid notice. I think I’ve made it when a hand closes around my wrist. FUCK! I jerk my hand, but the person hangs on.

 “Kid, wait. I just want to talk to you. You’ve got powers right?” The person is obviously male by his voice, but I don’t look at him. I turn towards him, and stare at his really nice shoes. 

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” He can’t know. Nobody can know about me.

 “I saw you. You saved that cat from getting hit by that car. And don’t tell me it jumped back. You pulled it out of the way.”

 “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. I didn’t save that cat. It got lucky.” I mumble. Please just let me go home. I tug a little at my arm, but the stranger holds on.

 “Come on, kid. I’m Tony Stark. I know a power when I see one. I’ve seen plenty enough to know.”

 I look up, and sure enough, it’s Tony Stark, goatee and everything. Expensive suit. Expensive shades. Shit. He would know. “Look Mr. Stark, sir, I just want to go home, okay? I’m just a normal kid with a lot of homework, and I need to get home.” I pull on my wrist again and he still won’t let go. 

 “Look, kid, if you’ve got powers that are that damned fast, we could use you. We being the Avengers. Well, the new Avengers. They’re recruiting. Wait, we’re recruiting? Anyways, if you decide you want to use those powers to save more than just a cat, come by Avengers tower. Go to the desk at the back and ask for me. I’ll let them know to expect a kid by the name of?” Stark looks at me expectantly. I hesitate. “I guarantee I can find out, so how ‘bout you just tell me.”

 “Tristan Coleman.” I quietly reply. 

 “Alright, Tristan. I hope to see you around. Avengers tower. Back desk. Ask for Tony Stark.” 

He finally lets go of my wrist and walks away. Thankfully he heads the opposite direction of my house. I head home at a jog. I’ve lost about 15 minutes in the exchange, and considering I left a little after trying to talk my Spanish teacher out of making me do a group project, I’m going to be thirty minutes late getting home. I round the corner to my house only to stop dead at the sight of my father’s car. He inherited this house from his family, and I can’t imagine the place has ever known happiness with what I’ve heard of his father. I nearly start hyperventilating there on the sidewalk, but delaying any longer will just make what I have to suffer worse. With heavy steps, I walk up the step to the house and go inside. I take my shoes and socks off in the foyer and go put my bag on the kitchen table where I do my homework. 

Before I can pull my Spanish book out of my backpack, my father sneers from behind me, “Where the fuck have you been?” 

I try to minimalize the flinch of my shoulders, but I can feel the tension rising in my body as I ready myself for the beating that’s sure to come. “I had to talk to my teacher after class, so I left late.”

“Why? Because you’re too stupid to figure out what you’re supposed to do?” He’s leaning in the doorway glaring at me. At 6’2”, he’s actually shorter than I am, but he seems so much larger than me. He’s strength to my weakness, muscle to my starvation. 

“I needed to clarify the homework before I left for the day.” I’ve turned so that I’m facing him, but keep my eyes firmly trained on the ground. I know that I’m in for it today, so I don’t want to make it any worse by being disrespectful. 

“Sure. Why else were you late? That can’t be everything.” His casual stance only amplifies my panic.

“I saved a cat on my way home. He almost got hit by a car, so I pulled him back. Someone saw and thanked me for it.” 

“Fucking pussy. Nearly getting hit by car to save a fucking cat. Almost saddled me with a fucking ER bill to save a damn cat. How the fuck did I get such a pansy for a child?” He shifts off the door jam, and begins to walk towards me.

Backing up against the wall, I declare, “I didn’t almost get hit by the car!” His eyes become stormy and mine widen when I realize my mistake.

“How did you save it then if you didn’t almost get hit, too? Did you use your freak powers to save the thing?” His voice has dropped to a growl as his hands start to undo his belt. 

Cowering against the wall, “I didn’t mean to, sir. Instinct kicked in.” I don’t raise my hands to my face. I’ve been whipped there before, and it makes school that much harder.

“You piece of shit. You used your powers on a fucking cat and were seen?! How fucking hard is it not to use your freak powers in public, faggot?” His belt is out his belt loops and hanging buckle down in his hand. I stare at it as tears begin to form in my eyes. I’ve fucked up. Bad. Worse than I have in a long time. “Take your shirt off and turn around.”

With trembling hands and a watery, “Yes sir,” I get my clothes off, pull my hair over my shoulder, and brace my hands on the kitchen wall. I hear the belt whistle through the air before it lands across my shoulders. I can feel it open the skin on my right shoulder and welt across some stitches from my last beating. Even with tears streaming down my face, I don’t give voice to my pain. Making noise only infuriates him further. I have to take my punishment in silence. Another blow lands, this time further down my back and wraps around my side. These are worst. The ones that wrap around my side to strike the delicate and mostly unscarred skin on the front of my body. The blows continue, so much that I stop even trying to count through the agonizing pain. The stitches are opening up on my back, and I can feel so many new wounds. Eventually I collapse to my knees in pain, and I hear him yell at me, but I can’t stand up again. I try. Fuck, I try so hard, but I can’t get off my knees. He keeps hitting me, paying less attention to where the blows land, and ends up hitting me in the jaw. I collapse to my side trembling in the weight of my physical agony. 

I’m not sure if he hits me again while I’m on my side, but my mind eventually clears enough to realize that I’m alone in the kitchen. I can feel blood seeping down my back, but grab my shirt and hoodie anyways. I manage to strangle the scream in my throat as I put them back on. I take hold of my backpack and nearly slip in my blood on the floor. He makes me clean it up afterwards, but for once I have somewhere I can go. I may be able to escape this. I leave the kitchen, keeping an ear and an eye out for my father the entire time. He must be in his room upstairs, because I don’t find him. I go through the miserable motions of bending over to put my shoes on and can feel the blood already seeping into my shirt. I walk out of the house to the subway, praying that I never have to come back to the hell behind me.

 **********

Riding the subway with open wounds on your back is a terrible experience. I had more than one person ask me if I was okay. I lied and told them I was okay and they generally left me alone. The fact that strangers actually spoke to me on a New York subway should tell you how terrible I look. I struggle to keep walking to Avengers tower. I'm gripping my backpack strap as tight as I can as if it will pull this misery out my body. I’ve never been happier to see a rotating door in my life when I get to the tower because that means I won’t have to pull on a handle. I get inside, and get a couple of looks from people. I limp my way to the desk I can just see at the back of the lobby. The woman looks startled to see a bedraggled teenager coming towards her, but gives me a strained smile. I see her flick her eyes to my backpack and then security. 

I can’t lose this chance, so I blurt, “Hello, ma’am. Mr. Stark told me to come here and ask to speak with him. I need to see him, please.” I try to sound as polite as possible, but my voice comes out high and strained. 

“I’m sorry, young man, but Mr. Stark is very busy.” I can tell by where she’s looking that security is approaching quickly. I can’t risk her sending me away.

“Please, ma’am, he told me tell you I’m Tristan Coleman. He said he’d want to see me, please.” I’m verging on more tears here from both frustration and waves of pain that are getting worse the longer I’m standing. 

“Wait.” She holds a hand up to the security officer who is now at my right elbow. “What did you say your name is?”

“Tristan Coleman.” I put my hand without the backpack in it on the counter to try and keep myself on my feet.

“Let me call Mr. Stark then.” I hear her continue to talk but my head is fuzzing up in a way that means I’m close to passing out. Fuck. I can’t do that yet. I have to see Mr. Stark first. I hear someone calling my name. I look up to see Mr. Stark coming towards me.

“Finally.” I see a concerned look on his face before the fuzz overtakes my sight. I feel myself falling, but never feel the floor hit me.


	2. Discovering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Tony came to Steve and told him about a powered kid who is in trouble, Steve expected to be taken to a jail cell. Now that they're heading towards Med Bay, he's not sure what he's about to see. He definitely wasn't prepared for Tristan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is unbetaed, and while I've read it and read it and read it, there still may be some mistakes. Be gentle!
> 
> I did not know when I started this story that there were going to be shifting perspectives. Surprise!
> 
> On to the story!
> 
> ********************

Steve’s POV

“So, yeah, I ran into this powered kid earlier, didn’t think I’d ever hear from considering how vehemently he denied having powers, but then he shows up at the tower beat to shit. Steve, he’s really bad. When he fell, and I grabbed him, my hand slipped on the blood that saturated his clothes. That’s how bad it is. I’m not really sure what to do with him, but it’s very clear he’s here to get away from something. The marks on his body are from a belt and you can see the buckle outlines where it cut him. And he’s malnourished. Like, bad malnourished. Kids in third world countries bad.” 

Tony is staring through the window in the Med Bay at nurses working around the kid. He is on his side facing the window, and two of nurses are stitching wounds on his back while another one puts an IV in his right arm which is stretched out in front of him. I can see from here that how his skin is stretched too tight over his bones. Shit. The only people I saw worse off than that were during World War II. But this kid, this kid is from modern day New York City, not Nazi Germany. 

Tony continues the rambling he does when he’s nervous or concerned. “We can’t give him anything for the pain because we don’t know what he’s allergic to. His medical files are basically empty. Couple of broken bones and that he refused medicine. No indication on allergies. According to the doc, the kid has been beat before because there are scars all over his back. If the doc had to guess, he’d say the kid stitched himself up because the stitch marks are jagged. Definitely not done by a professional. He’s going to be here for a while. Do I call the kid’s dad? But what if that’s the guy who did this? I looked the kid up. I know he lives with just his dad in Brooklyn…” I stop listening after Brooklyn. This poor kid is from Brooklyn? My Brooklyn? This young man was living in my Brooklyn dealing with this.

“Tony.” He stops midsentence to look at me. “What’s his name?”

Tony looks back at the window. “Tristan Coleman.”

“Tristan. Means sorrow.” The nurse has moved out of the way so I can see the kid’s face. He has a bruise forming on his jaw and cheekbones that jut out just a little too far. His eyebrows are pulled down in pain even though he’s currently unconscious. I realize that he could be beautiful if it wasn’t for the bruise and the sunken look he has. His long, brunette hair is tangled around his body, and the nurses working on his back keep having to push it out of the way. I find myself wondering what color his eyes are.

“Steve? Steve.” I snap my eyes back to Tony who’s looking at me in a way that lets me know he’s asked me a question.

“Sorry, Tony. Go ahead.”

“I asked if you and Bucky could take care of him.” I know the look on my face is startled. “One of us has to go train the new recruits, and honestly, you’re way better at this kind of thing than I am. To deal with a crisis, I drink, punch, or invent something. The kid doesn’t need someone like that. And Bucky has an unfortunate understanding of what this kid’s dealing with. I’d ask Natasha, but I think she’d just scare him. Clint is out on assignment, and Bruce is a no go. So, that kinda leaves you and Bucky.” Tony is giving me the earnest look that only comes out when he really believes in something.

“But Bucky and I are both Alphas. Don’t you think that’d be worse for him? At least you’re a Beta. That wouldn’t be so bad.” Something is drawing me to Tristan, but I’m trying not to let some selfish desire to protect a victim decide what’s best for him. 

“Tony’s right, Steve. The two of you are best choice for him out of all of us.” Tony and I both turn to see Natasha and Bucky standing in the hall. Bucky’s eyebrows are drawn in a frown, and when he looks at me, I can feel the confusion coming through our bond. 

“Tony, and apparently Nat, want us to take care of Tristan when he wakes up.” Bucky walks over to look into the window. I see the tension in his body that always comes with being somewhere medical, but when he sees Tristan on the bed, his fists clench in what I can feel is rage, sadness, and worst of all, painful understanding. 

“What do you mean by take care of?” Bucky asks without looking away from the window.

“Be there when he wakes up. If my assumption about his father is correct, he can’t go home. He’ll need a place to stay and I think staying with the two of you would be best.”

Bucky looks at me. I can see the pain tucked deep in those irises, and know he wants to help. To stop someone from suffering alone like he did for so long. “Buck. This isn’t going to be easy. He’s dealt with so much and is probably so scared. I’m just…” I trail off, searching for the right words.

“Afraid of making him worse.” Bucky finishes for me. “I’m scared of that, too, Steve. But I think that’s what might make us the right choice. I know what it’s like to be where he is. Tortured. Alone. Feeling like life is only there to beat you down until you can’t stand anymore. I can connect with him there. And you? You’re light. And warmth. And safety. And everything someone needs when they’re that low.” I can feel my blush splash across my face, but the earnest look on Bucky’s face tells me he believes we can do this.

“Okay then. We do this. Together.” Bucky gives me a small smile, and we all turn to see a nurse poke her head out of the Tristan’s room.

“He’s starting to come around, and judging by his heart rate, he’s starting to panic. Mr. Stark, could you come in here so he sees someone he recognizes?”

Tony moves through the door, and we all turn to look at Tristan who is starting to move his head around. I can just make out what Tony says to him, and I can see Bucky straining to listen, too. 

“Hey Tristan. It’s me, Tony Stark. Do you remember coming to the tower to find me?” Tristan inclines his head, even though his face remains scrunched up in pain. “We’re working on stitching up your wounds and getting you hydrated.”

For some reason, Tristan’s eyes fly open, and his heart rate monitor starts beating faster. He seems to be trying to get off the bed, but the nurses hold onto him. “Whoa Tristan. You can’t leave. You’ve lost way too much blood and those cuts need to be taken care of.”

“I can’t go to the hospital. It’s too expensive. Father will be angry.” He keeps trying to get off the bed, mumbling about how angry his father will be. The nurses keep his body on the bed, and considering how weak he is, they don’t have to try that hard.

“Tristan.” I can see how Tristan looks at Tony without meeting his eyes. “Is your father the one that beat you? Be honest. Because if he is, we’ll make sure you never go back there.” I see Tristan nod his head and begin to cry. “Then you’re never going back. And he’s never going to touch you again.” Tristan’s tears turn to sobs. “Hey, no crying. You can’t afford to lose the water.” Tristan huffs out a laugh, and tries to get his breathing under control. “So there are a couple of people I want you to meet. This is Natasha.” Nat walks through the door with a falsely languid movements. “You probably know her as the Black Widow. And then we’ve got Steve and Bucky. You’ll recognize them, too.” I walk in with Bucky trailing behind me. We stand next to each other, and Tristan looks at Bucky, who seizes my hand for some reason. When I look up from where Bucky grabbed my hand, I meet Tristan’s eyes, and Bucky’s reaction makes sense. There, with those beautiful, honeyed brown eyes, is our mate. Our Omega. We both step forward, when Nat puts a hand on each of our chests. 

At a level that even the two of us can barely hear, she says, “You can’t lay claim to him. His body is too damaged right now for him to even recognize the bond. You have to let him heal and realize the bond on his own. If you push it on him now, you’ll terrify him.” I look to Tristan, and see his fear as he tracks the two of us out of the corner of his eyes. I force myself to relax even as my instincts scream at me to protect and comfort my mate. I can see Bucky set aside his Alpha instincts, but with a practiced ease that came at a terrible price. 

Bucky crouches down next to the bed, allowing Tristan to see him with turning his head. “Hi Tristan. I’m Bucky. That big lug back there is my bondmate Steve. He and I are going to take care of you.” Tristan’s eyes flick to Tony. “He has to go train some new recruits, but Steve and I will take good care of you. I have a really good idea of exactly what it’s like to be where you are, and I promise to help you get through it. When you leave here, you’ll come stay with us if that’s okay. Steve and I would love to have you.” Bucky and Tristan both look at me, and I flash them the warmest smile I can muster. 

“For now though, let’s just work on getting you better.” I hope it will be soon because neither Bucky nor I have any love for hospitals. “Bucky and I are going to stay here with you. You’re in the tower still, so your father can’t get up here, but we’d all feel better if someone was here to protect you.” I intentionally don’t mention that part of the reason is that he’s powered. We don’t know the extent or what kind of control he has over his abilities. Tristan nods in acceptance.

“Well, I’m going to head out. F.R.I.D.A.Y., my AI that runs most of the tower, can contact me at any time, so if you need to, just tell her to call me, and she will. Nat’s going to come with me for now. If you need anything, just ask Bucky or Steve. Or F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Tony walks out and Nat gives Tristan a smile, before sending a very pointed look to Bucky and I. 

“Steve and I are going to sit over by the window and allow these nurses to keep working on you. If you need anything, we’re right here. Do not hesitate to ask for what you need. You don’t have to suffer alone anymore.” I know that’s the root of Bucky’s fear: being alone again. Isolated and turned into something he’s not. I guess it’s the root of my fear, too. Losing him and having to go through the motions of living again. 

Bucky and I sit in the chairs against the window as the nurses get back to work on Tristan. The one who put his IV in starts to wash the seemingly undamaged parts of his body, revealing bruises we hadn’t seen before. I can feel my Alpha nature trying to claw it’s way through my control, but I know I can’t let it. I can’t make Tristan afraid of me. As the nurses at his back continue working on his back, I can see the pain ramp up until he bites his lips. I get up, and once I know he’s seen me, I walk over and crouch next to him. “Do you want them to give you some pain meds?” 

Tristan shakes his head.

“Do you want to squeeze my hand? I promise I can take it, and it won’t hurt your lip.” I can see him considering it, but when one of the nurses pulls on a particularly painful wound, I see his right hand start to move towards me. I reach out and take his hand, and feel him squeeze as hard as he can manage. I feel a happy resonance from our fledgling bond, but I can tell he doesn’t feel it. Yet. I have to remind myself of that: yet.

I realize that I can sit cross-legged on the floor and still lean my head on the bed, and when I do, I start to tell him a story. “So when I was young, before the serum that give me the body I have now, I used to get sick. All the time. I’ve had Last Rites said over me probably half a dozen times. The worst time was when I was,” I turn to look at Bucky, “what, 12?”

“You were 11,” Bucky quips.

“Okay, 11.” I turn back to Tristan who is looking at me with hooded eyes. “And I got pneumonia. I thought for sure I was going to die. More than ever before, I hurt everywhere, and so far down inside, that I was sure I couldn’t survive it. I was hacking my lungs out, couldn’t keep anything down. And the miracle of it all was that Bucky never left me.”

“Well I couldn’t very well let your punk ass die, and I didn’t even know at the time that we were mates. I stayed there because there’s nowhere else I could ever be.”

“See? He stuck with me at my absolute worst. And you know what? That’s what we’re going to do for you. Feel free to cry or yell or whatever you need. Because we’re going to help you through this.” Tristan’s eyes shut and he starts to cry. I put my hand out for a tissue, and Bucky grabs one for me. I wipe them away, and Tristan grips my hand as hard as he can. I sit there, wiping away his tears until the nurses are done stitching and bandaging his wounds. I don’t even have to let go of his hand when they put a gown on him for modesty. His hair has been detangled and brushed, and he’s only grown more beautiful to me. I ache to call him mine, but I know what we have isn’t trust, but a desperation for kindness. Someone comes through the door, and I tense up, but the nurses greet the person as Dr. Paulson. He’s stitched up the team more than once, so I allow myself to relax again. Tristan had relaxed somewhat, but the tension is back in his body.

“Hello Tristan. My name is Dr. Andrew Paulson, and I’m going to be your main doctor while you’re here. I saw you when you first arrived, but now that you’re awake and stitched up, I need to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?” Tristan gives a small nod. “Thank you. Steve, I am going to need you to move over.” Tristan’s panicked eyes meet mine and his heart rate rises. “He doesn’t need to go far or even let go of your hand, Tristan. I just need to see your face, and Steve is a big guy.”

I get up, and stand near the bed by Tristan’s head, never once letting his hand go. Tristan’s heart rate goes down some, but his grip only gets tighter.

Dr. Paulson sits on a stool, and roles near the bed. “Okay Tristan. You are severely underweight for someone of your height and age. I know the cuts on your back hurt more, but the malnourishment is actually the worst issue you’re facing. I need to know: can you swallow?” Tristan nods. “Solids and liquids?” Tristan nods again.

“I eat lunch at school,” he explains in a quiet voice.

I’m so caught up in the beauty of his voice no longer laced with panic or obstructed by walls that I miss what’s said next and only come in on the doctor saying “need to start you on a protein and calorie rich diet. This will help you get your weight up. Now, if I had to guess, I’d say that your stomach is quite small and that you can’t handle a lot of food at once. Is that correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Okay. So we’re going to start you with a mostly liquid diet that way we can get a lot of calories and protein in you quickly. This will allow your body to deal with food faster, and we’ll be able to give you meals more often. It will take a while for your weight to start changing, but it’ll get up to healthy levels. Soon enough, you’ll be eating three regular meals a day. Does that sound good?” Tristan nods with a small smile and a few tears.

“Okay. Well as soon as I’m done here, someone will be in with the first of those high protein, high calorie shakes. I don’t promise that it’ll taste good, but it’ll be good for you. Next very important thing, are you allergic to anything?”

“No sir. Not that I know of.” That beautiful voice is almost enough to distract me again.

“Do you want us to give you pain meds?”

Tristan shakes his head. “Makes me fuzzy.” He mumbles. “I don't like that.” 

“Okay. No meds pain meds then. We do need to start you on some broad spectrum antibiotics to stave off any infection from your back. We'll use the IV you've already got going for hydration. You have a catheter in, so you don't need to get up to use the bathroom. I would try to minimize your movements until your back has started to heal up some.” Dr. Paulson looks down at the paper he brought in. “Well, that's everything I've got to say. Do you have any questions for me?”

Tristan looks at Bucky and me before looking back at Dr. Paulson.

“They can stay as long as you'll have them. You make choices about who can be in here with you. Okay? You're in control here.”  
Tristan’s eyes widen a little bit, but all he says is thank you. Dr. Paulson gives him a smile and leaves.

I can see Tristan looking at me. Bucky and I are going to have to work on that with him. He was obviously told not to look people in the eyes, but I love the color of his too much to be deprived too long.

“Is it okay if Bucky pulls his chair up here? It's okay if you say no, I promise.” Tristan takes a second, but nods.

Bucky says, “Thank you,” stands, and brings his chair over. He ends up seated next to me, but slightly behind me so as to not crowd Tristan. The silence in the room settles a little awkwardly, but I am too afraid to break it. Bucky has his warm hand on my arm, and we can see that Tristan is starting to drift off, but he keeps jerking himself back awake. I’m about to say something when there’s knock on the door. 

One of the nurses from earlier, Sally apparently, brings in one of the shakes that the doctor talked about. “Hi Mr. Coleman. Mr. Barnes and Mr. Rogers. I have a shake here to get Mr. Coleman going. Do you want me to help you with it or one of the boys?” I see Buck get smirk on his face at being called a boy.

“One of them please, ma’am,” Tristan whispers.

“That’s fine by me. Now, you don’t necessarily have to sit up to drink this. You are reclined pretty high at the moment, but I’m going to lift the back of the bed a little further to ease things for you.” Sally sets the shake on the bedside table and then fiddles with the bed to adjust the height. “Try not to drink it too quickly, okay? Let me know if you feel sick afterwards.” With that, she leaves the room. 

“I'm a little too clumsy to try and feed you with my left hand, and I don't want to let go of your hand, so are you okay with Bucky helping you with the shake?” Tristan nods, and I'm secretly happy because that means that they can start forming a bond. Bucky grabs the shake and holds it up to Tristan’s mouth. Tristan grimaces at the smell, and Bucky and I give a smile. It takes some time, but he works his way through the shake. Afterwards, Tristan starts to nod off again. When he jerks himself awake, Bucky looks at me.

When he looks back to Tristan, he says, “I know that right now, what's behind your eyelids scares you. I also know that what scares you most is that you'll wake up, and you'll be back in hell. I swear to you, this is real, and when you wake up, you'll still be here. And Steve and I will watch over you. Nothing bad will happen to you here. You can let yourself sleep. I promise you that you're safe. Captain America and Winter Soldier are keeping watch.” Tristan finally lets his eyes close and lets himself fall completely asleep.


	3. Orange Hippos and Brown Teddy Bears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long. Bucky was being awful stubborn. Also, I posted this using an iPad, so there may be some typos or formatting issues. Please be forgiving. It stops abruptly because I'll be moving back to Steve.
> 
> Also unbetaed.

Bucky’s POV

* * *

 

I watch his eyes close and his breathing change showing that he has finally allowed himself to fall asleep. Barring any nightmares, and considering how exhausted he is, I’d be shocking if he even dreamed much, he should be out for a few hours minimum. I am itching to get out of this hospital. It may just be a couple of floors in the tower, but they’re floors I actively avoid at all costs. I have to force myself not to flinch or tense when someone in a lab coat comes in. I try to be Bucky all the time, but a lot of time and pain went into making the Winter Soldier, and that never quite goes away. The longer I’m here, the worse I feel. My back hurts from all the tension built up, and I keep shaking my hand out which I know is my tell when I’m having problems. I can see Steve watching me and my hand abruptly stops. I can’t show weakness. I mentally shake my head. Yes, I can. This is my mate. My best friend. My husband. I can’t show weakness. Shit. I’ve got to get out of here. Even for a little while. I’m losing myself, and I can’t have that right now. I just found my Omega; I have to be grounded for him.

  
“Bucky?” My eyes cut to Steve once I realize that I’ve been staring at a wall a little too intently. “You can go. Go exercise. Go do something. I know you hate being here. I’m not crazy about this place either, but I know you hate it more. Go.”

  
“But, Tristan…” I grind out through clenched teeth.

  
“You and I both know that he’ll be asleep for a long while yet. We’ve both been that exhausted before. I will text you the instant he starts to stir, and if you not being here bothers him, I’ll tell him you went to the bathroom or something. Tristan may be our mate, but that doesn’t mean he makes me care less about you. I don’t want you to sit here hurting when there’s no reason to. Go. I’ve got this.”

  
“I love you. A lot. You know that right?” I look right at him even as the Winter Soldier yells at me about eye contact.

  
“I do. And I love you, too, Buck.” I get up, give Steve a quick kiss, and all but flee the room. Fuck there are a lot of people in lab coats out here. Gotta get out. I force myself to walk normally to the stairs. I run up the stairs to the floor that belongs to Steve and me. I punch the code, and stalk in, intent on changing my clothes so I can go run on a treadmill until it breaks. I know that if I force myself to physical exhaustion, I won’t feel so anxious and I might actually get some sleep tonight.

  
On my way to the closet, I stop. I find myself staring at the most incongruous part of our bedroom: a teddy bear. It’s an old fashioned teddy bear that Steve got for me when I came back. Everything else in here is art that Steve made or equipment or the normal knick-knacks that married couples accumulate, but the teddy bear sticks out. It has posable limbs, with the bowtie and buttons for eyes, and slightly matted brown fur. When I first got back, I was in a high-security hospital room at some S.H.I.E.L.D. location. It was just as sterile, cold, and white as anywhere that Hydra held me, and I was having problems remembering where I was and that I didn’t have to be the Winter Soldier anymore. When doctors would come in to examine me, I would either lash out or become catatonic. I wouldn’t eat or speak. Even when I recognized Steve as my mate, I didn’t react. Personal connections had been fried out of me and humanity buried under layers and layers of torture. And then Steve walked in one day with this teddy bear. I’m surprised that he was allowed to bring it to me, but then Steve has always been too endearing to refuse for long. He walked in, and I stared at the stuffed animal. It was the first time I’d seen one in a long time. He said some things I didn’t hear and set the bear down on the bed next to me. He sat in a chair and watched me stare at the bear. I had this ridiculous thought that it was going to explode or let out a deadly gas, but it sat there, innocuously looking at nothing. Slowly, I reached out to touch it. The softness of the brown fur and the sweetness of this gift finally broke through the barriers I’d been forced to build against my emotions, and I started crying. I sat with my knees to my chest, my flesh hand clutching this bear, crying. Steve slowly reached out and laid his hand on mine where it gripped the teddy bear, and I cried harder as the bond between us finally sang again. It had been this sorrowful and painful anchor in my soul that constantly ached and confused the Asset, but now, now, it was it was always meant to be: a way home. After that, I almost constantly had ahold of that teddy bear. It was with me when I slept, when I was asked questions, when doctors looked at me. When Steve wasn’t there, it was the only thing that reminded me I wasn’t with Hydra anymore. It allowed me to be Bucky again.

  
Forcing myself out of this veritable flashback, I know I have a new mission for the day. I have to find Tristan his own stuffed animal. I close the closet door that I’ve been awkwardly holding open, and grab my keys and wallet. I text Steve to let him know that I’ll be out of the tower, but ask him to still tell me if Tristan wakes up. His reply promises me he will and he tells me he loves me again. I feel our bond pulse a little as I write that I love him, too. I wonder when Tristan will be able to feel that, too. I barely remember to grab my jacket on the way out to protect me from the harsh November winds of New York City. How I hate the cold. I wonder if Tristan will have that in common with Steve and me.

  
Anyways, toy stores. Googling toy stores comes up with way more options than I need with a bunch being for Line toys, whatever those little anime things are. I make a mental note to ask Clint when he’s back; he likes playing games on his phone. I keep looking up different places because I cannot find anything I like until I find a website with an orange hippo on it, and for some reason, that orange hippo is just right. The store, Playing Mantis, is a 26 minute subway ride and walk from the tower. Bracing myself for the freezing air, I step out to find the toy store. I am glad that Tony showed me how to work the GPS on my phone even though he hates me. I love playing with all the technology he comes up with, but I avoid going to his lab this time of year. Family holidays are hard on him and having me around just makes it so much worse. I don’t go to the Avengers Thanksgiving or Christmas get-togethers, and I don’t plan on going in couple of days; I won’t do that to Tony. I see the sadness on Steve’s face when he goes without me, but I always refuse to go.

  
I make my way onto the subway. In my current mood, I could not be happier there are few people on the train. Per usual, they all avoid me. Nat told me once that I look scary as hell when I’m agitated. I lose a little time during the ride because I feel that I just sat down when I hear the announcement that we’re at my stop. I exit onto the street and have to pull out my phone to make sure I find the place. Once outside the door, I call upon the skills picked up by the Asset to stifle my anxiety and become seemingly pleasant. With a smile plastered to my face, I walk through the doors.

  
“Hi there! Is there anything I can help you find?” a cheerful young woman chirps from behind the counter.

  
I force myself to respond in the same happy manner: “Hi! I saw online an orange hippo. I was hoping you still had it in stock.” I give her a winsome smile.  
Her smile gets larger. “It sure is! Just head over there,” she points to the left side of the store, “and you’ll find him.”

  
“Thank you.” My smile fades once I move away from her. I search through piles of giraffes, dogs, and something that might be a sheep, when I see him. He’s a bit bigger than I thought he’d be, but he’ll be a good pillow then. I grab one and head back to the counter, forcing my smile again as I checkout. Pleasantries are exchanged and I must perform a good facsimile of amiable because she appears fooled. I walk back out into the brisk air one gift-wrapped hippo as my plus one.

  
The subway ride home is much the same as the ride out, and I go back to Steve’s and my floor to drop off Tristan’s gift. Once it’s placed on the kitchen table, I sputter to a halt. Mission accomplished, but now I have no idea what to do. My anxiety is kicking back in full force, but there’s nothing for me to do. I could clean the apartment, but it’s mostly clean already and that won’t take me long enough anyways. I settle back on my original plan for the day: physical exhaustion.

  
I change into running clothes and head down to the gym. I go over to one of the reinforced treadmill and start it up at a jog that most people would call a run. Thankfully Tony made these ones to withstand a super soldier running on it, but given my current mood, I won’t be surprised if it breaks. I turn on the angriest and loudest music I can find and run. I don’t stop. I turn the speed up until I feel on the brink of falling over by going too fast, and run. I lose time in the burning rhythm of my body and the angry clash of sounds.

  
In what feels like mere minutes, I have gotten so lost in the physical pain I’ve pushed myself into that I don’t smell the burnt rubber until after the treadmill starts slowing down. I look down in confusion only to see smoke curling out the sides of the machine. I turn it off before it actually catches fire and step off. My legs are wobbly and my back is screaming. The seam of my metal arm is aching from my arms pumping and I’m even feeling a little light-headed. I tell FRIDAY to ask Stark for another treadmill and to apologize to him for me. I hate having to bother him right now, especially considering I didn’t mean to break the equipment, but I get the feeling that this won’t be the last time I need to exhaust myself in the next few days. I check the time and notice that I’ve been running for the last three hours. I’m nearly exhausted, so I head upstairs to get a shower. The hot water does nothing to ease my tired muscles. I know I should eat before I climb into bed, but my body is too sore and I just don’t want to bother. I fall into bed without even getting under the covers and pass out.

* * *

 

 

“Please no! Stop! Please!” I shot up in bed covered in a terrible sweat. I fucking hate night terrors and this one always lingers with me. I never told Steve, but Hydra would find guys who looked like him and torture them to demand my cooperation. I watched their frail bodies thrash and bleed and scream and die in the chair. Even as the Asset, stripped of humanity, I always wept and fought even when I didn’t know who they were or who they reminded me of. Over and over again, the anchor in my chest would ache, and I never knew where the pain came from. I rarely dream of the damage done to me, but instead, all the terrible deaths I had caused and witnessed over the years. Now though, now my mind has warped my memory to put Tristan in there, too. I watched his eyes bulge in pain and eventually bleed. I have barely heard him speak, but my mind supplied me with the sound of his screams combining with Steve’s. I can feel myself shivering and smell the stink of fear coming off of me, and if I had anything in my stomach, I’d have thrown up by now. I stumble out of bed on legs that feel about to collapse and manage my way back to the shower. I hear my phone making noise, but I turn the water to freezing and step under the spray. The shock of it steals my breathe and I can feel memories trying desperately to vie for my attention. I force them back and just feel the water chill the heat of my body and rid it of sweat. The cold is its own punishment, a deserved one for all my failings, but I can’t let myself get overwhelmed by it. I have to get back to the hospital to see Tristan. That is the only thought that keeps me from curling up under the icy water and losing myself. I can’t let my new mate down already. I turn off the water and towel myself off.

  
“Mr. Barnes.” I clamp down on the startled reaction to FRIDAY speaking. “Mr. Rogers is trying to contact you. I told him you were in the shower, but I would suggest contacting him quickly.” I nod my head, unwilling to use my words (another common effect of panic attacks). I get some clothes first, and then pad over to the dresser to look at my phone. He called me eight times, leaving my a voicemail each time, and eleven different texts. Another one comes in while I’m looking at the other ones.

  
**Bucky? If you don’t answer this message, I am coming home. What’s wrong? I felt your panic. Please, baby, answer me.**

  
Shit. I didn’t mean to scare him. I forgot that my emotions don’t just affect me anymore.

  
**Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Bad dream. And don’t leave. Tristan needs you. Be there soon.**

  
I put on my clothes as I wait for his response. I realize I’ve pulled out my “comfort clothes” of my most worn pair of jeans, faded black undershirt, and burgundy Henley. My phone gives a little chime, telling me that Steve’s responded.

  
**Just because we found Tristan doesn’t mean you’re any less important to me. He’s still asleep. I can come home.**

  
**No. Be there in a bit.**

  
**Okay. I love you**.

  
I know I should respond, but I just stare at the word love. I don’t deserve that. Instead of letting my emotions drown me, I force them down and put on my shoes. I’m at least glad he’s only down on the medical floor because I’m not sure I could visit Tristan if he was in an actual hospital. I decide to change the sheets before I leave to help get some of the stench out of the room. I shove the dirty ones in the washing machine with more detergent than necessary. I look over to the kitchen on my way out and my stomach cramps. I take stock of my body and realize I haven’t eaten since before we met Tristan, and that was… yesterday. Shit. I don’t want to eat, but know I must, so I make food enough for Steve and me. If I can’t bring myself to eat, I know Steve will get me to.

  
Once the food is ready, I grab Tristan’s gift and head down to medical. I work on bracing myself in the elevator, but I’m still not ready when the doors open. Fuck. Can’t we paint the walls something other than white? Maybe ditch the lab coats and the buzzing equipment. When I’m injured, I can deal with the place because necessary maintenance and all that, but I feel the need to vomit now. The doors start to shut without me getting out, so I stick my hand out to catch them. I finally shuffle out of the elevator but keep my eyes on the floor. Too much anxiety has me reverting back to Hydra’s harsh lessons of never looking my superiors (aka everyone) in the eyes. I find my way to the room and steel myself for going in. Steve will realize I’m not okay, and I’ll have to deal with him fussing over me, too.

There’s no changing it at this point, so I just open the door. I see Steve reading on his phone still holding Tristan’s hand, and my heart gives a sweet, painful tug. Steve turns when he hears the door shut and looks me in the eyes. I try not to, but I ultimately turn my gaze back to the floor. I can feel his concern and sadness over the bond, and I can’t help but slump my shoulders more.

  
I may be on the verge of a panic attack or going catatonic, but I still manage to say, “I brought food.” I set down the bag of food on the little roll away table. “And I bought something for Tristan today. I saw the teddy bear you gave me and thought he might need something, too.” I pull out the orange hippo to show Steve before sliding it back in the bag. “So is he doing okay?”

  
“He’s fine, Buck. Hasn’t changed since you left eight hours ago. I’m sure he’ll like his gift, and it was very sweet of you to get him. But Bucky,” Steve steps into my space and I try to hide my flinch, “what’s wrong? Talk to me. Please.” He carefully takes my hand and leads me to a chair. I sit, out of reflex more than anything else. I know Steve. He won't let me avoid answering. I see the expectant albeit worried look on his face and begin working on how to explain.


	4. Honest Gifts

Steve’s POV

 

Even if I couldn’t feel the self-hate and panic through the bond, I would be able to see it written all over Bucky’s face. Some people say that he is incredibly difficult to read, but I’ve been looking at and loving that face for too many years not to see the tension and fear struggling behind those eyes.

Bucky is looking between the bed and the floor, all while his jaw is grinding trying to come up with an explanation. He’s fidgeting, too, and I’m trying to give him time to work out his answer, but the silence is killing me. I just want to help him, but I can’t without knowing the problem.

Finally, he forces himself to still, trains his eyes on the floor so that his hair obscures his face, and opens his mouth; after a beat, he speaks. “Did you know that I saw you at the hospital after I shot you?” My eyebrows rise because I had no idea. “I did. I went into the building across the way, and I looked through a scope to see you lying there, not moving, not even breathing on your own, and I felt my heart stop. I didn’t know who you were to me, but I knew by then that you were so important. So damned important, and I nearly killed you.” Bucky releases a shaking breath but keeps going. “I came back every day after that and just watched. I saw you when you woke up. I cried. I bawled because I knew you were gonna be okay, but just because you were okay, doesn’t mean I forgave myself for nearly killing you. The worst part was that when I first shot you, I was so sure I was doing the right thing. Because Hydra had fucked with my head so much that I didn’t even recognize my own mate. You almost died because I was weak.” God I want to interrupt, to soothe those terrible feelings, but I know if I do, Bucky will lose all this momentum. “And when I see Tristan on the bed, all of those feelings come back. I’m here, and I see him lying there, and I feel like I failed all over again. I didn’t know him until yesterday, but I still feel like I failed as his mate, and I, I just… and then there’s the hospital itself with all the doctors and lights and the antiseptic smell. The only thing missing is the smell of burnt hair, hot metal, and piss. And with the guilt and fear mixed with the hospital, it just feels like Hydra all over again. And I, I just…” he trails off, and I can see his tears hit the floor.

“You know that I love you, right?” I say in a wavering voice full of barely held back tears. I see Bucky nod, but I also see his fists clench and the pang of self-doubt come through the bond. “I love you, but you’re not the only one who feels like a failure.” He turns to look at me through his hair, and I can see the disbelief written on his face. It’s my turn to look away because I won’t be able to finish this with him staring at me. “Yeah. When you and me were fighting on that road and your mask came off and there you were. My mate. Who was supposed to be dead. I didn’t go back for the love of my life because there was no way he could have survived the fall, so I ignored the lingering bond because I assumed I was just mourning you and wasn’t ready to let you go. But there you were, and you didn’t know me. You didn’t even know yourself. And I caused that by failing you so utterly. When we fought the second time, dying was an acceptable outcome because at least then I didn’t have to live with all the pain of failing you so completely. When I woke up and heard you’d fled, I was devastated. That’s why I never stopped looking for you. I couldn’t go through losing you again. Feeling the bond sit in my chest and knowing you were still alive but not here hurt so fucking bad. I had to find you and help you know yourself again. Even if it meant you never wanted me again, I had to know you were safe. I could be okay if I just knew you were safe. That I may have failed you before, but that I was able to help you this time. Seeing you in that S.H.I.E.L.D. room just so lost made me wonder if I made the right choice. I found you but ended up putting you right back in the kind of environment you hated and I wondered if I’d been selfish wanting you back so badly. If that teddy bear hadn’t of worked, I’m not sure what I would have done. So when I say you’re not the only one who feels like a failure or carries guilt, I mean it.” I feel his hand clasp mine and squeeze. I lean over and kiss his temple. He turns his forehead to rest against mine while we both finish with our tears. We sit there for a few minutes in silence. A weirdly cathartic calm has come over both of us and even moving feels like it’ll break something.

I’m not sure how long we sit like this, but we finally move away when the heart rate monitor on Tristan indicates that he’s waking up. His waking is slow, until the heart rate spikes. Without the heart rate monitor, it’d be hard to tell he woke-up. It’s the process of someone who’s trying to figure out where they are and if they’re in danger.

“Hey Tristan. It’s Steve. You’re in the hospital wing in Avengers tower.” The heart rate stutters for a second. “You’re not going to be sent back to your father. I promise. Bucky is here with me, too. He has a gift for you.” With that, Tristan finally opens his eyes, his eyes slide over me, to land on Bucky.

“Hey Tristan. So, when I first got back to Steve, I was actually kept in a facility that looked a lot like a hospital. I don’t like hospitals and I was trying to recover my memory at the same time. I was pretty confused and afraid because I kept forgetting that I wasn’t in danger anymore and that I didn’t have to go back to the people who hurt me. Steve gave me a teddy bear to help me remember where I was and that he was there with me. Well, it actually worked really well, so I umm…” I can see how nervous Bucky is getting especially now that Tristan is staring at him with a confused expression on his face. “I, uh, bought you something. A present.” Tristan’s eyes go wide at the statement and his eyes finally land on the gift bag at Bucky’s feet. Bucky picks the bag up and brings it over to Tristan. Tristan looks up at Bucky before tentatively reaching into the bag. He fumbles a little before drawing the obnoxious orange hippo out of the bag. When Bucky pulls the bag away, Tristan just holds the hippo in the air, staring at it. I can see Bucky start to fidget with nerves about Tristan’s lack of response, and I see his mouth open to start trying to explain the awkwardness away when a tear falls down Tristan’s face, quickly followed by another until he is truly crying.

Bucky immediately goes to comfort Tristan feeling like he in some way messed up: “hey, Tristan. It’s okay. Please don’t cry about it. I can get you something else if orange isn’t your thing. Or if stuffed animals are too juvenile. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Tristan shakes his head and draws the hippo to his chest. He opens his mouth a couple of times, before finally saying, “I haven’t g-g-ott’n a gift in a r-r-really l-long time. Thank you.” I can see Bucky relax and get teary-eyed himself (who am I kidding, so am I). Bucky starts to run his fingers through Tristan’s hair to calm him down, and unconscious motion from when I do the same thing for him.

I can feel the relief wash over Bucky. “You’re welcome. I just wanted to help you know that you’re cared for and safe here. I know what it’s like when you wake up, and you’re not sure if the good things are a dream and you’re back in hell. The teddy bear I told you about was so… incongruous with my hell that I knew I was with the good things.” Bucky looks over at me. “The good people. I just wanted to help you know that you’re here with the good things.” I get a watery little smile on my face and what Bucky refers to as my “dopey love eyes.” He smiles back at me and we both look down at Tristan. His eyes are closed and still leaking tears, but he has a small smile on his face and his arm holding the hippo tight to his chest. His heartbeat has evened out as has his breathing.

We remain in silence for about five minutes with just the sound of machines and Bucky’s hand running through Tristan’s hair before I hear Bucky’s stomach rumble. I laugh a little when Bucky’s face turns a little red from embarrassment. The blush and my laugh only get stronger when Tristan looks up at Buck with a smirk on his face.

“Well I think that signals meal time for all of us,” I say after my laughter dies down. I stand up and approach the bed. Bucky side steps a little but keeps a hand on Tristan. “So Tristan, I’ll be getting you another shake. Do you want to hold onto it yourself or for one of us to hold it? Up to you.”

“I’d like to hold onto it myself, please.” He never quite looks me in the eye. I’ll have to work on that with him just like I did Bucky.

“You got it. Bucky’ll help you sit up a little higher while I go get what we need, okay?” Both men nod and Bucky sets to moving the back of the bed up higher.

When I step into the hallway and shut the door behind me, I take a moment and just breathe deeply. I try to settle that rattling pain that makes me feel like the tiny asthmatic I once was. A few breaths later and I’m ready to search out one of Tristan’s nurses. I’m not sure if Sally is on shift anymore as it’s been almost nine hours since Tristan came in, so I just head to the nurse’s station. The nurse seated inside the station on her computer looks up to see me approaching.

“Hi Mr. Rogers. What can I do for you? Everything okay with Tristan?” Her genuinely caring smile puts me even more at ease. Nurses have superpowers, I tell you.

“He’s actually woken up as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now.” Her knowing look confirms that. “I was hoping to get another shake for him when Buck and I eat. It would be less awkward for him. Hopefully.”

“Sure thing. Either myself or another nurse will be over with one in about five minutes. Just gotta mix it up.”

“Thank you very much,” I glance at her nametag, “Lauren.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Rogers.” I give her a quick smile before turning back to Tristan’s room. I knock on the door before opening because it seems that Tristan is just as easily spooked as Bucky and the last thing I want to do is scare either one of them. When I get the door open, I see that Bucky has pulled the chairs and rollaway table closer to the bedside so that we’ll actually all be eating next to each other even with Tristan in the bed. Tristan appears to be comfortably reclined even though he is still on his side. The hippo is firmly wedged against his chest. Bucky is behind Tristan braiding his hair for him. I watch as he tells Tristan about how he used to do this for his little sister and how once he got better at it than his own mother, he had to braid two heads of hair every day: Mom and Becca. I can feel the dull ache of sadness but it’s combated by the joy of the memory. He relays the put on irritation that everyone always knew was fake. I know he’s been telling the story to put Tristan at ease with having someone behind him where he can’t see, and it seems to work beautifully. It helps that it is a pretty amusing story.

Once the braid is done, Bucky pulls a hairband off his wrist where he always keeps extras. He manages to snap a lot of them when he forgets about his strength. I notice that he sometimes snaps them against his wrist. I asked him about once and he told me that the little jolt of physical sensation helps him remember where he is. I don’t like that he hurts himself, even that little bit, but I know I don’t have a right to dictate his coping mechanisms. As it is, I’m just happy to see those little things get used for good.

Just as Bucky finishes the braid, we hear a knock on the door followed by a cheerful, “lunch time!” Lauren comes in with the shake in hand. “Alright, keep the drinking slow, but I do need you to finish this off. You can throw away the container once it’s empty. Don’t forget to drink some water, too!” She hands the shake off to me and promptly exits the room.

I hand the shake to Tristan who promptly takes a swallow. He grimaces slightly, but keeps drinking just the same.

“Do you mind if Steve and I eat while you drink that? If the smell or something bothers you, we can go out in the hallway.” Bucky asks as he picks up the bags of food.

“It’s fine.” Tristan says between sips of the shake. Bucky starts taking the food out of the bag, it’s mostly sandwiches, and Tristan’s eyes keep getting wider. The food has made quite the mound on the rollaway table. “You guys are going to eat all that?”

“Metabolism,” Bucky and I say together. The earns a small huff of laughter from Tristan. Bucky and I take a seat and start in on the food. I’m thinking we’ll need more though the way both of us realize how ravenous we are. Tristan is watching us as he works on his shake; I notice that he has to stop periodically, but that’s not surprising considering his condition. What I’m really enjoying is the way he’s smiling and shaking his head at us as we eat way too much for normal people. My alpha instincts are soothed by his eating and the way he internally laughs at us as we eat.


End file.
